


Pour Some Sugar On Me

by caramelle



Category: From Dusk Till Dawn: The Series
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Gyms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-15
Updated: 2018-04-15
Packaged: 2019-04-23 07:32:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14327619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/caramelle/pseuds/caramelle
Summary: He recoils. "Do Ilooklike I'm here for a smoothie?"Her left brow arches upward, graceful and questioning. "You're asking me if you look like you came into a smoothie shop… for a smoothie?"Or, the one where a smoothie shop opens up beside the Geckos' gym, and Seth is not at all happy about it. At least, he doesn'tthinkso.





	Pour Some Sugar On Me

**Author's Note:**

> BIG shout out to tay for ~inspiring my inspiration~ for this fic [here](https://twitter.com/mellamymake/status/931833598683918336) and also for being my Cheerleader.mp3 *sings* she is always right there when i need her
> 
> also you can find a mini aesthetic for this fic [here](http://ticogirls.tumblr.com/post/172964157506) if you're into that!  
>  
> 
>  
> 
> (title from the Def Leppard song, which sethkate 150% **** to on a regular basis)

 

  


 

It starts with a sign.

 

Not the kind of cosmic, karmic shit Richie's always blabbing on about. A real, _actual_ sign, printed in neon pink, cursive font and tacked up in the window of the unit next door, aluminium shutters blocking out everything behind the glass.

 

"'Opening Soon'," Seth reads with a scoff, nudging his arm into Richie's. "Like we need another cutesy ass hipster place round here, huh?"

 

His brother merely shrugs. "I don't know. It's not like we're suffering an overabundance of smoothie shops in the neighbourhood."

 

Seth scoffs again for good measure as he turns to lead the way to his car, parked a few spaces down from the gym. "There's that place next to the pizzeria."

 

"That's for froyo."

 

He rolls his eyes, unlocking the car doors as they approach. "That monstrosity across the street from the pawn shop."

 

Richie squints as Seth dumps his training bag in the backseat. "Boba stand."

 

"The fuck is—" Seth cuts himself off, slamming the backseat door shut and jamming his finger in the direction of the shuttered shop. "The point is, this is just more boring, cutesy ass shit that's only here to crowd up the neighbourhood. Shit's gonna fold in three months — six, tops."

 

Richie shrugs again, clearly unruffled. "We'll see."

 

Seth shakes his head, wrenching the driver's door open. " _Smoothies_."

 

 

 

The flyer comes about two weeks later.

 

It's delivered by a skinny kid with spiky hair, probably about sixteen or seventeen, still more boy than man.

 

"The hell is this," Seth grumbles, plucking the sheet out of Richie's hands.

 

"Consider it an invitation," the kid intones, clearly not entirely thrilled with his current task. "Special opening deal tomorrow. Two smoothies for the price of one."

 

Seth lowers the flyer, staring at the kid. "Do we _look_ like we drink _smoothies_ round here?"

 

To his disbelief, the kid merely rolls his eyes. "Present the flyer to redeem this exclusive, one-day-only offer," he says, already turning to leave.

 

"Hey, kid," Seth starts, waving the flyer at him. "Take this shit with you!"

 

"Present the flyer to redeem," the kid repeats over his shoulder, already halfway out the door.

 

Seth barely manages to close his incredulously slack mouth before his brother's already swiped the flyer back, peering at it with apparent interest.

 

"What?" Richie says mildly when he notices Seth glaring at him midway through pinning the flyer up on the corkboard behind the front desk. "It's a good deal."

 

"Jesus Christ," Seth mutters, grabbing a Gatorade from the small fridge next to the desk before disappearing back into the gym.

 

 

* * *

 

 

People tend to take one look at the Geckos and instantly assume that Seth's the more domineering brother — the one who makes the rules and calls the shots.

 

He wouldn't say they're _wrong,_ exactly. It's just real fucking funny that despite the fact, they somehow always seem to end up doing what _Richie_ wants to do.

 

Which is why they're currently in the middle of a stupid line with a bunch of stupid people, queuing for a couple of stupid half-off smoothies. Ha-fucking-ha.

 

"By the time we get done with this fucking line, the stupid offer's gonna be expired," he grumbles, scratching irritably at the back of his neck.

 

"We're just four more spots from the counter," Richie points out, annoyingly placid. "It'll take fifteen minutes, tops."

 

For some reason, Seth is even _more_ annoyed when it takes less than ten minutes for them to reach the counter.

 

"Welcome to Smoothie Heaven, what can I get you?"

 

"We've got a flyer," Richie announces proudly, brandishing the sheet like it's a winning lottery ticket.

 

"I can see that," the girl behind the counter says, her tone polite but laced with a definite edge of dry sarcasm. "Would you happen to have an order to go with the flyer?"

 

Her tone is just cutting enough to grab Seth's attention, and he tears his gaze from the menu board overhead to frown at her. Huh. With her pastel pink apron and heart shaped face, he'd half expected her to simper and fawn all over his brother. Or, at the very least, deliver a patronising giggle before coaxing them to fork out two extra dollars for the special of the day.

 

"A Bananarama Deluxe, please," Richie says, sounding a lot happier than any grown man has the right to sound in a smoothie shop. Especially not one uttering the words _Bananarama Deluxe._

 

"Coming right up," the smoothie girl says, already scribbling away on a large plastic cup with a black Sharpie. She passes it on to another pink-aproned girl, before grabbing a fresh cup and looking up at Seth expectantly. "And you?"

 

He recoils slightly, leaning back. "Do I _look_ like I'm here for a smoothie?"

 

One of her brows arches upward, graceful and questioning. "You're asking me if you look like you came into a smoothie shop… for a smoothie?"

 

 _Definitely_ not the tone he expects from a _smoothie girl._

 

He bristles, stepping right up to the counter. "Listen, princess, I'm not—"

 

"Seth," Richie cuts in, deadpan and annoyed, "just fucking order something. You're holding up the line."

 

Seth's gaze swings to his brother, and then back to the smoothie girl. She doesn't say anything, but merely cocks her brow again, marker still poised over the cup.

 

He throws his hands into the air, glancing vaguely at the menu. "Fine. Give me a" —he squints hazily at the board— "Very Berry, or whatever."

 

"One Very Berry," the girl echoes dutifully, already finishing off with a flourish of her marker and passing the cup on. She glances back at Seth, eyes sparking with defiant challenge. "Or whatever."

 

He starts to open his mouth to retort, but finds himself being unceremoniously pushed aside by his brother.

 

"Thanks," Richie says, waving at the girl with one hand as he shoves Seth along with the other.

 

Their smoothies take all of two minutes to arrive at the pickup counter. Seth spends those two minutes glaring at the smoothie girl out of the corner of his eye.

 

The name tag on her apron reads 'Kate'.

 

"Oh, my God," Richie says as they're leaving the shop to head back to the gym, drinks in hand. "Fuck, that's good. You gotta try yours, brother."

 

Seth thrusts his cup in his brother's direction. "You can have it."

 

"I've already got my own," Richie counters, pushing the cup back at him. "Just _try_ the damn smoothie, Seth. You don't like it? Throw it away. Whatever, I don't care."

 

Seth rolls his eyes, and stabs his bright red plastic straw through the plastic cover and into the bright magenta mush within. He raises the cup in a silent, sarcastic toast to his brother, and then brings the straw to his lips.

 

"Huh?" Richie prompts, a big, stupid grin already stretched across his big, stupid face. "Not bad, right?"

 

Seth doesn't bother meeting his brother's eye. "Whatever."

 

He takes the rest of the drink into the training area to avoid Richie's infuriatingly attentive eye. It's the first time he's ever broken the 'Only bottled drinks allowed' rule.

 

But, goddamn, that fucking smoothie's fucking _worth it._

 

 

 

Two days later, the skinny kid with the flyers turns up in the gym again — sans flyers, this time.

 

"You guys hiring?" he says with no preamble.

 

Seth raises a brow, the inventory list he's been going over forgotten for the moment. "Sorry, kid. We don't do flyers."

 

The kid narrows his eyes, like he's considering socking Seth in the face. "Yeah, well, neither do I."

 

"What my brother _means_ is," Richie interrupts as he appears out of nowhere, "aren't you working at the smoothie place next door?"

 

A vehement shake of a spiky head. "My sister works there. I was just helping her out with the flyers."

 

Seth frowns. He definitely doesn't recall seeing an Asian girl anywhere behind the counter, but then again, he hasn't been in the shop since opening day. He surveys the kid from head to toe. "Yeah, well, you look a little young to be a certified trainer."

 

"I'm eighteen," the kid says fiercely. He pauses, the slightest semblance of apology lancing through his features. "I mean, I will be. Soon." He shakes his head, and leans forward. "Look, I'll do whatever. I'll fix whatever needs fixing. I'll sweep, or mop. I'll unclog the freakin' toilet. Just… show me what to do, and I'll do it, okay?" He swallows, glancing between them. "What do you say?"

 

Seth is about to shake his head, but then Richie makes _that sound._ That innocuous hum, seemingly under his breath but simultaneously loud enough to make Seth grind his teeth. The one Richie always does when he's pretending to consider something he's already made up his mind about.

 

"Well," his brother says, thoughtful, "we _have_ been talking about getting an extra pair of hands to help out around here."

 

Seth grits his teeth. "Richard."

 

Richie holds his hands out as if in surrender. "Don't look at me. I'm not the one constantly complaining about having no time to wipe down the machines in between clients."

 

Goddammit. Richie's right. (He _hates_ it when Richie's right.)

 

He sighs, and looks back at their audience of one. "Got a name, kid?"

 

"Scott," he answers readily, chin jutting up as if preparing for a fight. "Scott Fuller."

 

Seth looks him over one last time, and nods. "Welcome to Eddie's." He grabs the clipboard with his inventory list on it, glancing pointedly at Richie as he turns to head back into the training area. "He's your problem now."

 

 

 

As it turns out, Scott is pretty damn useful.

 

The kid works hard and keeps his mouth shut for the most part, which Seth appreciates. He's _fast,_ which Seth is grudgingly impressed by. He's also surprisingly observant, picking things up quickly just by watching him and Richie. He only ever opens his yapper to ask questions, questions that aren't actually dumb or plain annoying.

 

Also, it's nice to finally have someone responsible for keeping the bathrooms clean. The showers have always been a bitch to manage.

 

Ten minutes before they close on Friday, Richie nips next door and comes back balancing three giant plastic cups.

 

"We're celebrating," he informs Seth, shoving a familiar magenta drink at him. "Scott's first week at Eddie's, done!"

 

"It was three days of work," says Scott, evidently a little sheepish as he accepts the purple mush Richie hands him — grape, maybe? (A better question would be how the fuck Richie even knows Scott's smoothie preferences.)

 

"Stop making up dumb excuses to get a damn smoothie," Seth orders, searching the bag for a straw.

 

"Well, what the hell am I supposed to do when I want a smoothie, then?" Richie says, like it's the most obvious thing in the world.

 

Seth points a bright red straw at his brother, right in his face. "Just _get_ a damn smoothie."

 

 

* * *

 

 

On Monday, the gym door rattles open at ten A.M. sharp.

 

Seth turns, surprised. It's not so much that they rarely see any action before noon, but… he'd literally _just_ unlocked the doors.

 

His surprise rockets even higher when he sees who it is.

 

"Lost, princess?" he says, surveying her up and down. "Candyland's the next door down."

 

Smoothie girl's in some strappy white top and jean shorts, a small purse slung across her short frame. He honestly can't tell if she's in high school or college. It's the hair, he thinks. It's dark and thick and cut to just above her collarbones, the ends brushing back and forth over her bare shoulders. Most girls around town her age tend to wear their hair longer, trailing down their backs so they can toss them around their shoulders, like overglossed manes. It makes her look older and younger, all at the same time.

 

She's got her feet planted wide and her hands on her hips, glaring at him like she's just about ready to blend _him_ into a smoothie. He's not sure what he's done… but truth be told, in the weirdest fucking way possible, he's also not so sure he's _not_ into it.

 

"Where's my brother?" she snaps, as fiercely as her gentle timbre will allow.

 

He frowns. "Your what?"

 

"My _brother,_ " she repeats, stalking past him towards the training area. "Where is he?"

 

"How the hell should I know?" he says, caught between annoyance and bemusement as he trails slowly after her. "Hey, you have to _pay_ to go in there—"

 

But she's already wheeling about, having peered into the training area and found it empty. "He's been here, hasn't he?" she demands, arms crossing over her middle.

 

Jesus. Does she ever give it a _rest?_

 

"Listen, sweetheart," he says, folding his own arms to match her stance, "you wanna give me something to work with here? I don't exactly have your entire family tree on hand at the moment, so a name would be a nice place to start."

 

She narrows her eyes at him, like she's trying to work out if he's mocking her. "His name is _Scott._ "

 

He pauses, taking a second to process the information. So when Scott said he had a _sister_ working at the smoothie shop next door…

 

"Ah." He shifts his weight from one foot to the other. "Yeah, he's been here."

 

She cocks her head, eyes slitting even thinner in suspicion. "What does he _do_ here?"

 

"He works here."

 

Her arms drop to her sides. "He _what_?!"

 

He shrugs. "Started last Wednesday."

 

Her mouth hangs open. "He's _seventeen."_

 

He blinks at her, one brow arching at the way she's _staring_ at him. Like he just said he's part of a cannibalistic cult or something. "He said he'd be eighteen soon."

 

"That's not the point," she snaps, hands returning to their perch on her hips. "Are you even _supposed_ to hire minors?"

 

"Last I checked," Seth retorts, "it's not _illegal_ for a minor to pick up a rag and disinfectant spray." At her narrowed glare, he huffs in exasperation. "Look, does this little interrogation have a _point?_ Because if it does, I'd strongly suggest arriving at it soon. I don't have all day, princess."

 

She looks like she's about to say something else — but then she drops her hands, spins on her heel and storms right out of the training area and through the front door. Her silence is so fucking _loud._ It makes him feel like he practically got run over by an RV.

 

He watches her push into the smoothie shop next door, dark hair lashing about her face with the force of her stride. _Jesus Christ,_ Seth marvels silently with a shake of his head. _What a piece of work._

 

 

 

Usually, Seth would just forget about an encounter like the one he'd had with smoothie girl. It's not the first less-than-polite altercation he's ever had with a stranger, and knowing himself, it certainly won't be the last.

 

But he keeps _noticing_ her all of a sudden — the white sneakers she pads to work in every day, the T-shirts and tank tops and strappy shirts she wears depending on the weather, the way the sun practically bounces off her dark, shiny hair as it whips about her face. Every single morning, she staunchly avoids looking into the gym as she passes it on her way to the smoothie shop, shoulders rigid as she charges past with her eyes trained unrelentingly forwards.

 

All the same, he gets the distinct feeling that she never fails to notice him noticing her.

 

On Thursday, he caves and goes in search of more information.

 

"So," he says, sidling up next to Scott as the kid cleans the free weights, "your sister works at that smoothie place next door, huh?"

 

Richie coughs from the reception desk, almost loud enough to make Seth think it's deliberate.

 

Scott throws him a wary glance, but goes right back to cleaning. "Yeah."

 

He hums, casually fiddling with his shaker bottle. "Dark hair and Disney eyes? On the short side? Kind of a nag?"

 

Scott pauses then, looking up at him. "You know Kate?"

 

 _Kate._ That's her name. (Not that he'd forgotten.)

 

"Not exactly," he mutters, snapping the drinking flap on his bottle closed. "She's older?"

 

"Two years and then some," Scott says. He hesitates, twisting the rag in his grip like he's having a debate with himself. "Our dad died a year ago. We kind of got bounced around for a bit, but no one really wanted to keep us. We ended up moving in with our uncle a few months ago, but he goes out of town a lot, so… yeah."

 

Translation: So Kate's more or less the only person in the world who looks out for Scott.

 

Tough break, Seth realises instantly. For both the kid, _and_ his sister. After all, if anyone can relate to being forced to become a parent to one's younger sibling…

 

Feeling a familiar presence nearby, Seth glances over to see Richie standing in the entryway, shoulder propped against the wall and making no attempt to hide the fact that he's listening in.

 

Seth clears his throat, turning his thoughts back to the matter at hand. "And you didn't tell her about nabbing your highly coveted position here with us because…?"

 

Scott sighs, turning away from the rows of weights in front of them. "We wanna get a place of our own once I turn eighteen, so she dropped out of college and started working wherever she could. I told her I wanted to help, but she wouldn't let me. She says I have to finish high school first. Stay focused, get my GED."

 

"Smart girl," Seth mutters before he can really think about it. He coughs to cover the surge of embarrassment at his own slip-up, pumping his head up and down in a gruff nod. "So you're really not going to tell her about this?"

 

Scott shakes his head furiously. "She'll only tell me to quit," he says, bending back over to scrub his rag over another dumbbell so forcefully that it looks less like he’s trying to clean the thing and more like he’s trying to erase it from existence altogether. "It's not fair. She already put college on hold just because of me. She's doing this for _us._ She shouldn't be the only one working her ass off."

 

Seth's gaze slides to Richie. His brother's eyes cut from Scott's bent-over form to Seth's, and a moment of understanding and agreement passes between them.

 

Clearing his throat, Seth straightens and shakes his head. "You can start on the barbells once you're done with those," he says briskly, clapping a hand onto Scott's shoulder as he walks past.

 

 

 

Seth's not usually embarrassed by much. He likes to own his brash stupidity, mostly because he knows full well that nine times out of ten, it's a lot more brash than actually stupid.

 

Which is why he feels _extra_ discomforted by the feeling of having to sneak around like some kind of thief, the hoodie he'd thrown over his workout tank zipped up to his chin with the hood drawn up and over his head to hide the parts of his face the large, dark glasses he's wearing can't.

 

He's so busy looking around for fear of getting recognised in _this_ place that he doesn't even notice when it's his turn.

 

"Sir? _Sir._ " Smoothie girl heaves a big sigh. "Look, guy, if you're going to rob us, I'd much prefer you didn't do it on my shift." She wrinkles her nose at his bared calves, the light spread of dark hair clearly visible on his olive skin. "Or, at the very least, not in _gym shorts._ "

 

" _Shhhh_ ," Seth hisses urgently, hurrying up to the counter with one last furtive glance through the glass windows. Fuck, why does everything have to be _glass_ these days?! Thankfully, Richie doesn't seem to be anywhere in the reception area.

 

"Are you _seriously_ shushing—" Smoothie girl breaks off when he whips off his dark glasses and stuffs them into his jacket pocket. Her brows knit together. "Oh. It's you."

 

"Yeah, you're a real ray of sunshine in my day too, princess," he retorts, unable to keep from smirking slightly at the narrowed glare that earns him. "Look, can I get a minute?"

 

"I'm _working,_ " she says emphatically, with a pointed tug on her pink apron. "Either order something, or move."

 

She doesn't wait for his answer, already stepping sideways to wave the next person forward. He shifts quickly to block her, both hands held out in entreating surrender. "All right, okay, listen— I just need _one_ minute, okay?" He pauses, waiting till she meets his gaze. "It's about your brother."

 

She blinks at him, lips pressed together. For a beat, he can practically _hear_ her thinking — the tiny gears and cogs turning in her head as she searches his face.

 

Finally, she shakes her head. "Fine." Her pointer finger appears in his nose, jabbing insistently. "But you _still_ have to order something."

 

He waits out by the back alley as per her instructions, shuffling aimlessly as he glances nervously at the door that leads to the back of his own gym. Aside from large equipment deliveries and such, he and Richie leave it locked for the most part. Theirs is a relatively small business, and the front entrance serves their needs more than well enough. All the same, he's suddenly paranoid that his brother's going to burst through the back door at any minute, wearing a shit-eating grin as he hollers _'A-ha!',_ catching him in the act.

 

It's so dumb. It's not even like he's doing anything _wrong._

 

He practically jumps when the back door to the smoothie shop flies open, the petite brunette shouldering through with two cups of bright-coloured mush.

 

"One Very Berry," she announces, holding his usual magenta-hued order out.

 

"Thanks," he mutters, his gaze flicking over her as he takes the cup. She's removed the apron, leaving her in jean shorts and a dark blue top with thin white stripes running across it.

 

It's cute. Makes her look like a little sailor girl, or whatever.

 

"What," she snaps, stepping back.

 

He raises both brows at her, and gestures with the cup in his hand. "I need a straw."

 

She blinks, shoulders sagging. "Oh. Right." Reaching back with her free hand, she produces two straws, presumably out of her back pocket. "Here." She hesitates, looking up at him. "Sorry, I just—"

 

"It's fine," he says firmly, taking a straw — red, to match his drink. Somewhere in the back of his head, he notices that she'd even grabbed an orange one to match whatever drink she'd gotten for herself.

 

It's silent for a few moments, the two of them punching their straws into their drinks, taking long sips as they alternate between looking at the ground and each other.

 

"This is good," he says after a beat.

 

She looks at him, but her expression seems a lot less wary than before. "Thanks. It's one of my favourites, too." She shakes the cup in her own hand. "Aside from this, that is."

 

He squints at the orange-toned slush. "What _is_ that?"

 

She looks at her cup, and then at him. Her hand extends, offering it to him. "Try it."

 

He glances at her, waiting to catch the gag — but her face holds steady, eyes meeting his with the same defiant fire, but also something that looks a lot like sincerity. Reaching out, he takes the cup from her, and takes a small pull through her straw.

 

She grins at the way his face instantly scrunches up. "Good, huh?"

 

"Wow," he half-splutters, handing the cup back to her. "That is— that is _acidic._ "

 

"Mango Tango," she says, almost brightly. "Kind of a misnomer, considering it's a lot more passionfruit than mango."

 

"Jesus _Christ,_ " he says, shaking his head. "You _drink_ that stuff?"

 

"By the gallon if I could," she says, and then pauses. She tilts her head expectantly, eyes travelling over his face.

 

Seth shuffles from one foot to the other. Truth be told, he's mighty unsettled by how _discomforted_ he feels under her scrutiny. He's practically twice her size, certainly in breadth if not in height. Hell, he's got at least a good six inches on her in that department too, especially with her in those flat-heeled schoolgirl tennis shoes. If anyone should be uncomfortable in this situation, it sure as fuck shouldn't be _him._

 

After a long moment of this goes on without her saying anything, he finally gives in and grunts, " _What._ "

 

She blinks. "You said you wanted to talk about Scott."

 

"Oh. Yeah." _Fuck._ He clears his throat and pulls his shoulders up. "Yeah, I did."

 

Another pause.

 

She lifts a brow. "And?"

 

"I'm working up to it," he mutters, shaking his head and then taking another sip of Very Berry for fortification. And then another. Shit, that stuff really _is_ good. He feels a small, sharp stab of resentment for his own brother. _Fuck you, Richie._

 

Kate's quiet all the while, watching him with her face carefully blank. Despite that, he gets the vague impression that she's laughing at him behind her own orange straw.

 

"Okay, look here," he says once he's consumed enough fruit-flavoured slush to steel his nerves. (Not that he _has_ nerves.)

 

"The thing about your brother is..." He trails off, looking into her large eyes. Fuck, have they always been so fucking _green_? That's some doe-eyed shit.

 

"Scott is—" he starts again, shaking his head. "I mean, he— he's a good one."

 

A good ten seconds of silence passes, the faint sounds of traffic filtering in through the alleyway.

 

Kate opens her mouth, and then closes it. "Is that what you wanted to tell me?"

 

Jesus. He could _punch_ himself.

 

"No," he says, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. He waves his smoothie at her. "Okay, no, here it is. I don't know what your deal is with your brother, and I don't wanna get in the way of whatever family drama you guys have going on — but, shit, maybe you could cut him some slack?"

 

Her shoulders stiffen. "Excuse me?"

 

He rakes a hand through his hair, shoving down the impulse to shut the conversation down while he still can. "I don't know your life, all right? But I _do_ know that Scott didn't take this job to make things any harder for either of you. He's just a kid trying to help, and this is the best way he knows how."

 

Just like that, her eyes narrow into dangerous slits.

 

"The _best way_ Scott can help _anyone,_ " she starts, arms folding tightly across her middle, "is by focusing all his energy on _school,_ and getting himself a good education. And I _really_ don't appreciate you encouraging him like this, because you know what? You're right—he _is_ just a kid, and you _don't_ know our life."

 

"He _is_ focusing on school!" Seth argues before he can convince himself it's a bad idea. "He _never_ skips out on class to come to the gym, because he knows damn well if he ever so much as tries it, we're just gonna send him right back. He works harder than any kid in this town I've ever seen do, and, forgive me if this is _insulting_ to you, princess, but somehow, I just don't think he deserves to get shit on for that!"

 

Her mouth drops, and her cheeks heat to a warm pink "That's not my point _at all!_ Why can't you see that working for you is only going to be a distraction for Scott!"

 

"You don't _know_ that," he exclaims. "You don't see him in the gym. You know how he spends his breaks? Doing homework at reception! From what he's told me and Richie, that's a hell of a lot more than he used to get done sitting round in detention all day. I got a feeling he would tell you too, but he clearly doesn't wanna piss you off by talking about the job you _don't_ approve of him having." He exhales tightly, one hand scrubbing over his eyes. "And, yeah, I don't know your life, but trust me, princess — when it comes to being a kid left all alone with your brother, trying to figure out how you're both gonna get by? I know a little something about _that._ "

 

He instantly regrets saying it, especially when her mouth snaps shut, all traces of anger fading from her face. _Stupid move. Dumb move._

 

There's a reason Seth never, _ever_ talks about his family history, _especially_ not with strangers. It always earns him that wide-eyed, puppy dog look.

 

_Pity._

 

He shakes his head without meeting her eye, shoving down the unwelcome sensation of self-loathing uncoiling in his gut. "Forget that," he says abruptly. "Look, I'm just saying — you could talk to Scott about it _before_ going off on him. Or don't," he adds with a hard shrug, turning away in an attempt at ending the exchange. "Whatever. S'your call."

 

He's digging in the deep pocket of his training shorts for the gym keys when he hears a quiet, plaintive _"Seth"._

 

Taking a deep breath, he turns around, keys dangling on the end of his index finger.

 

Kate looks torn, her expression looking like she's debating between giving him a hug and chewing him out again. He really, _really_ hopes it's the latter.

 

Finally, her gaze swings up to meet his, hand tightening on her smoothie cup. "Don't keep him late. It's his night to make dinner."

 

It takes a beat, but he manages to give her a nod. He's barely so much as dipped his head before she's already spinning on her heel, disappearing back into the smoothie shop, the door closing behind her with a loud click.

 

It takes him another full minute to realise that until now, he'd never actually heard her say his name before.

 

 

 

"What's up with you?"

 

"What's up with _you_?" Seth retorts automatically.

 

He instantly regrets it.

 

Richie closes the laptop with a small snick, leaning towards Seth with a gleam in his eye. "Okay, now you _have_ to tell me."

 

"Nothing's up, you moron," he shoots back, resolutely keeping his back turned on his brother as he folds towels. This is supposed to be Scott's job, but Seth would much rather have something to do with his hands now that doesn't involve a set of twenty-pound dumbbells. Wouldn't do to tire himself out before his next client comes in.

 

"You're acting weird."

 

" _You're_ acting weird."

 

Richie sighs. "Come on, now. You’ve spent the last week being extra broody. Tell your brother all about it."

 

"We're at _work,_ Richard," Seth snaps irritably.

 

He doesn't even have to turn to know that Richie's glancing pointedly around them at the empty reception area.

 

"Shut up," Seth says, dropping the towels abruptly. "Have Scott sort those out when he gets in," he adds as he strides past the front desk and back into the gym.

 

Scott shows up promptly at two-thirty, getting right to the towels without so much as a roll of his eyes. That's enough to spark Seth's interest — the kid deals fine with scrubbing and disinfecting and mopping, but the one thing he _absolutely_ hates with a fucking _passion_ is folding shit. If there's ever gonna be any indication of Scott being in a good mood, this would be it,

 

Maybe he finally managed to talk shit out with his sister? It's hard to tell. Aside from a few idle questions and answers here and there, Scott's not much of the sharing kind, and Seth's _definitely_ not the asking kind. Partly because it's _none of his business,_ and partly because he's not a) a fucking _busybody,_ or b) Richie.

 

At the end of the day, Seth is in the small locker room getting ready to head home when Scott pokes his spiky head in.

 

"I'm done with the bathrooms," Scott announces. "Richie said I can go now, but I just wanted to check in and make sure."

 

"Yeah, go ahead," Seth says, glancing up. "Oh, uh, Scott—"

 

The kid pauses, looking at Seth expectantly.

 

Seth nods stiltedly. "Good work today."

 

"Oh." Scott looks confused, but pleased nonetheless. "Uh. Thanks." He hovers in the hallway, clearly unsure of how to proceed.

 

Seth flicks a towel at him. "Yeah, okay. Get outta here."

 

Scott breaks out into a rare grin, his entire face lighting up. "Okay. See you tomorrow!"

 

On their way out, Seth pulls his hood up and frowns unseeingly at his phone, refusing to allow himself even the slightest glance at the smoothie shop next door as he waits for Richie to lock up.

 

 

 

The next morning finds Seth pounding away on the treadmill, getting a quick warm-up workout in before the lunch crowd starts to filter in.

 

He's only twenty minutes in and just starting to get a good sweat going on when he registers the sound of his brother's voice through the 80s rock blaring through his earphones. Yanking one bud out, he yells back, "Say what?!"

 

"I said," his brother calls back from the front, "get out here!"

 

"Why!"

 

"Special delivery for you!"

 

"You sign for it!" he yells back, swiping at the sweat dripping down his forehead.

 

"Can't!" comes the cheerful response.

 

With a roll of his eyes, Seth hits stop on the machine. He grabs the small towel draped over the handrail and throws it around his neck, grabbing at one end to wipe his face as he heads towards reception.

 

"The fuck are you talking about, Richard," he says, pulling his towel out of his eyes. "I didn't order any—"

 

Smoothie girl stands at the front desk, a plastic cup of bright red slush sitting in front of her.

 

"Hi," she says, casting a quick glance at Richie. "You really didn't have to come all the way out here."

 

"He really did," Richie says, sipping at his own yellow smoothie as he deliberately ignores the quick glare Seth shoots his way. "I'm gonna go do something in the back for a minute. Thanks for the drinks, Kate."

 

"You're welcome," she says, both of them exchanging small smiles as Richie saunters out of the reception area.

 

A brief silence falls over the room.

 

"Sorry," Kate starts to say. "I don't mean to interrupt—"

 

"No, I was just—" Seth blinks, glancing down at his grey workout tank, large patches of sweat already starting to form in the middle. He clears his throat and looks back up. "It's, uh, it's cool."

 

She shifts from one foot to the other. "I just thought—I mean, I wanted to thank you. So." She gestures towards the bright red smoothie. "Here."

 

He takes two careful steps towards the desk. "Thank me."

 

Her cheeks are flushed, he notices. Somehow, he doesn't think it has anything to do with the summer heat, already sweeping into town a few weeks early.

 

"For what you said that day. We—Scott and I, we've been talking about it over the last few days and…" She pauses, drawing a breath. "I think working here is going to be good for him."

 

He doesn't move. "Really," he says, keeping his tone as neutral as he can.

 

To his surprised amusement, she seems to take that as some sort of challenge, crossing her arms over her middle and pulling her spine straighter. "I mean—well, we'll _see_ ," she says, her tone rising slightly. "I'll be keeping a close eye on his grades, of course."

 

He nods slowly. "That's fair. You're the boss, anyhow."

 

She huffs a wry laugh. "Well. So are you now, I guess."

 

That lifts the corner of his mouth. "You're not worried I'm gonna corrupt your precious kid brother?"

 

She scoffs lightly and yanks her arms free. "With _what,_ your protein shakes and intensive weight routines?" she quips, gesturing towards his exposed biceps. "I think I'll take my chances."

 

(He's not blushing. He's _not._ He's Seth fucking Gecko, for Chrissakes.)

 

"I gotta rethink _my_ chances," he says, deciding to look past the underlying subtext for now. For both their sakes, really. Instead, he reaches out, taking the smoothie cup from the reception desk. "You keep bringing me any more of this stuff and I'm gonna turn into mush myself."

 

She rolls her eyes. "It's sugar free."

 

He looks up, genuinely surprised. "Seriously?"

 

"I've always given you sugar free," she says with a nonchalant shrug, At his silence, she frowns hesitantly. "Is that— I mean, I just thought, since you guys run this place and all—" Breaking off, her brows knit together in apologetic uncertainty. "I can start giving you guys the normal stuff if—"

 

"No," Seth interrupts, one hand curling around his cup. "Uh. This is good." Another awkward pause. "Thanks."

 

"Sure." For a moment, it looks like she might say something more — but then she clears her throat before making a show of checking her wristwatch. "I gotta get back to work." She looks up at him, one brow lifting as if in uncertainty. "See you around."

 

He nods, letting the wet cold of the slushie seep into his fingers. "Yeah. Okay, princess."

 

She turns and walks out the door, the ends of her brown hair swaying mesmerisingly over the tops of her shoulders.

 

He picks the cup up off the desk, tearing his eyes away from her departing frame to silently marvel at the bright red mush.

 

Sugar free.

 

 

 

Maybe he starts sending Scott on a smoothie run every other day or so — Very Berry for him, Bananarama Deluxe for Richie, and a few bucks extra to cover whatever catches Scott's fancy off the menu.

 

And maybe he starts casually recommending Smoothie Heaven to his clients once they're done with their sessions, slipping it in between idle chit chat about isotonic drink brands and bicep exercises as they're towelling off.

 

And maybe he starts throwing glances across the way whenever he's in the reception area, squinting through the the glass, hoping to catch a glimpse of fair skin and dark hair. He can be an asshole, but he's no idiot, okay? Anyone with eyes could see how beautiful she is. It's not a crime to acknowledge that someone is objectively pretty, he reminds himself whenever Richie almost catches him looking through the glass.

 

(She reads whenever it gets slow in the shop. Not flashy magazines or Buzzfeed on her phone or some other tween shit, too. Actual _books_ — well-worn paperbacks with yellowing pages that look like they came from the local thrift store for fifty cents apiece. Her little nose wrinkles slightly when she gets real into it, her petite frame bent over with her elbows propped on the counter because for some dumb reason, they're not allowed to sit when they're working.)

 

Sometimes she catches his eye. Sometimes she even gives a little wave, the corners of her lips quirking slightly in an expression that's not quite a smile, but not quite _not_ either.

 

On one particularly busy day, in between the clusters of clients parading in and out of the gym, Seth finds himself way too caught up with the unexpectedly high volume of people traffic to spare twenty minutes to run out and grab lunch. The gym is so busy that when he commands Scott to go grab lunch for himself, the kid waves it off, stubbornly responding that he’s “not even that hungry.”

 

(Seth thinks of overruling him for a minute, but then he decides it’s probably not in his own best interests to argue with a Fuller.)

 

Richie eventually manages to persuade Scott to spare a couple minutes to make his usual smoothie run. To Seth’s surprise, Kate sends her brother back with a few packets of the mixed nuts they sell out by the front counter. The kid merely shrugs when Seth shoots him a questioning look.

 

"Kate said in case you guys don't have time to eat today," he says, dumping the entire bag in Seth's hands before running off to see to a guest's stuck locker door.

 

He’s never been much of a nuts kind of guy, but it turns out this particular assortment of baked almonds, walnuts and cashews actually really does it for him.

 

 

* * *

 

 

One of the perks of working late is that Seth gets a rare opportunity to enjoy some alone time.

 

Don’t get him wrong. He’s completely comfortable sharing an apartment with his brother, and he would do just about anything for Richie — but the guy is just plain _annoying_ sometimes, okay? It’s practically a scientific fact.

 

Sometimes he gets another light workout in, taking advantage of the small number of patrons to test out the machines for himself, make sure everything's in good working order. Sometimes he spends two hours trying to tell himself he knows what he's doing as he attempts to fix the belt on a treadmill. Sometimes he sits down and catches up on random paperwork, or just goes over the books (which Richie keeps) to make sure everything’s up to snuff. Every now and then, he even feels comfortable enough with how the gym’s doing to crack a book, taking advantage of his brother’s absence to kick his feet up on the desk and chill for a bit with a good paperback. (Richie has this thing about keeping the desk clean.)

 

Either way, for a good three hours, no one ever bothers him unless it’s to ask for an extra towel, and it’s fuckin’ great.

 

As long as the smoothie shop next door has been open, he’s never known Kate to work the night shift. (Yeah, whatever, he keeps a regular lookout for her now, okay? Sue him.)

 

Which is why he’s surprised to see a familiar flash of dark hair and fair skin behind the smoothie counter when he emerges from the gym to close up the reception area. She’s got her back to him, already half-disappearing through the door leading out the back of the smoothie shop, but he just manages to catch a glimpse of the large black trash bag trailing behind her.

 

He’s striding back through the gym before he can even think about it, all thoughts of reception gone.

 

She’s already at the large Dumpster by the time he gets out the back door, hauling one large, tied-off trash bag over the rim (with some significant effort, considering her diminutive frame). She reaches for the second bag sitting at her feet, but stops when she hears the creak of the rarely-used hinges, turning so he can see the expression of surprise on her face, her pale skin practically luminous in the lamplight.

 

“Hey,” she says, straightening upright. “You guys done for the day?”

 

He eases the door closed behind him and pockets the gym keys before sauntering carefully towards her. “Yeah, pretty much. You?”

 

She shrugs. “Technically, I’ve got another five minutes on the clock, but I’m calling it. It’s been a slow night.”

 

“Same,” he says, reaching her side just as she bends to pick up the remaining bag of trash. “Here, let me give you a hand with—”

 

“It’s okay, I got it,” she huffs slightly, straining to heave the bag over the rim of the Dumpster, which stands a few inches above her shoulder. “I do this all the time, it’s just—”

 

Placing his hands on the bag — right hand between hers, left hand braced on the side to push it into the large bin — he takes most of the weight in his palms with no trouble at all, tipping the bag easily into the Dumpster with so much efficient ease that her hands are left trailing after his, her small fingers nearly losing contact with the bag altogether.

 

“Okay,” she says after a beat, looking up at him in bemusement. “Any chance you’re free to do this Friday, too?”

 

He frowns at her. “You’re working Friday night, too?”

 

She nods, folding her arms over her middle. “Scott joined this study group thing,” she explains, offering him a small smile. “He’ll be out for dinner Tuesdays and Fridays from now on, so I figured if he’s not gonna be home, I might as well pick up a couple extra shifts.”

 

Seth nods slowly. “Study group. Is that the one with, uh, Jessica?”

 

Kate throws her hands into the air. “Is _that_ her name? I’ve been trying to get that out of him for the last two weeks now!”

 

“Boys,” Seth says, shaking his head despite his fond tone. Whatever, the kid’s grown on him, all right? “But yeah, I’m pretty sure that’s her. Unless your brother has a habit of talking about how shiny all his friends’ hair are.”

 

She shakes her head, pressing her fingertips to her forehead. "Oh my God. I already forgot how embarrassing teenagers could be."

 

"It could be a lot worse," he says, allowing himself a small smile. Probably best not to tell her about the look on Scott wore on his face all day Jessica invited him to join study group. The kid practically floated around the gym the whole afternoon, not even blinking when Richie took advantage of his dreamy mood to tell him to muck out the toilets and shower stalls.

 

Kate pulls her hand from her face, returning his smile with one of her own. "Thank you for humouring him, at least." She pauses, head tilted. "What are you doing out here, anyway?"

 

He freezes, abruptly yanked from his thoughts about how her smile is _actually pretty goddamn sweet kinda like sunshine on a cloudy day and wait what the fuck did she say?_

 

"Oh, uh—" He glances at his hands, which are _decidedly_ empty of any trash to get rid of in an alley furnished only by a Dumpster. "You know. Just came out for a smoke."

 

"Oh." Her forehead wrinkles as if in confusion, and then smooths out again. "Can I bum one off you?"

 

"Oh. Uh, I"—abort, abort, _abort_ —"I mean, not that I wouldn't, I just, uh, forgot to—"

 

She folds her arms across her middle, one brow arched. "You don't smoke, do you."

 

"No," he admits quickly, torn between relief and embarrassment at being called out with so little effort on her part. "No, I really don't."

 

She snickers, but it's not unkind. "It's okay. Neither do I. I mean, I used to now and then back in high school, when it was cool to hang out under the bleachers and pretend you actually liked it, but… yeah, it's not for me."

 

"Teenagers," Seth remarks, and they exchange grins.

 

"I should get home," she says after a beat, looking oddly reluctant in a way that has his gut clenching. "Scott's probably on his way, too."

 

With one last smile, she starts to turn away.

 

He clears his throat.

 

"Hey," he says, ignoring his dumbass heart pounding in his chest. "You want a ride?"

 

 

 

The Gecko brothers don't exactly live in the heights of luxury, but they do well enough that they can afford a decently nice three-bedroom apartment with good sunlight and a great shower that runs neither too hot nor too cold. It's in a pretty good location, too, with working streetlights and plenty of grocery stores around, and even a park nearby where people bring their kids and walk their dogs and shit. (As far as parks go, it's kind of a small one, but whatever. Still counts.)

 

Compared to that, the Fuller siblings live in a downright shitty neighbourhood.

 

"Take this left," Kate directs him. "And… just ahead. Yeah, this one right here."

 

Pulling to a stop in front of a dilapidated brown building, he shoots a wary look out the window. “This good?”

 

“It’s great,” Kate says, gathering her bag from the car floor. “Thank you. I really appreciate it.”  

 

Seth is late to meet her gaze, his eyes lingering on two figures outlined in the alley just off the building right next to hers. The streetlights are too dim for him to make their faces out, but the glow of their cigarettes and the shape of their sweatshirt-clad frames are enough to tell him they’re definitely not just a couple of mild-mannered old ladies out for a late night stroll.

 

“No problem,” he says, turning the headlights off and putting the car in park.

 

Kate pauses, one hand on the passenger door handle as she watches him unclip his seatbelt. “What are you doing?”

 

“I’ll walk you up,” he says gruffly, pushing the door open before she can respond.

 

She gets out of the car, a bemused look trained on him as he rounds the hood with a few long strides. “It’s fine, I get myself home every day—”

 

“I know you do,” he says shortly, one hand clicking the doors locked with his key, the other pressing lightly to her back to get them moving. “I’m just really interested in seeing your place.”

 

She looks up at him, brows knitted skeptically. “No you’re not.”

 

“I _could_ be,” he amends, letting her enter the building ahead of him.

 

There’s an elevator in the building, but Kate automatically veers towards the stairs.

 

“It gets stuck a lot,” she says, glancing over her shoulder at him as they start up the first flight. “Are you sure you wanna— I mean, it’s four floors up, you don’t—”

 

“You know what I _do_ for a living, right?” he says, one brow lifted.

 

She rolls her eyes, muttering something that sounds a lot like _“moron”_ under her breath as she stops mid-way up the flight of stairs. “I’m not doubting your physical capabilities, I’m just saying—”

 

He doesn’t bother trying to hide his smirk. “Yeah, and I heard you.” He nods towards the stairs. “Lead the way.”

 

She’s nowhere near out of breath by time they get to her floor, but she _is_ noticeably pink-cheeked, her skin flushed with exertion. His own skin remains exactly the same olive hue, as well as completely dry of sweat. He checks a smile at the annoyed look she throws him as they walk down the short corridor.

 

“You could at least pretend it was _some_ sort of struggle,” she grumbles, digging in her bag for her keys.

 

“It was a good warm-up,” he offers, watching her fish a small ring of keys out and roll her eyes at him. “I think I’m ready to do some beginner’s yoga now.”

 

“Ha, ha,” she deadpans, but the corners of her mouth turn up anyway. She pauses, keys held tight in one hand as her gaze travels over his face, like she’s searching for something. “I would invite you in, but Scott’s probably home by now and—”

 

She doesn’t want Scott to know that his sister and his boss have been… doing whatever the fuck it is they’ve been doing. He gets it, he really does.

 

All the same, a tiny prick of disappointment stabs at him.

 

“Don’t worry about it,” he says, nodding briskly. “You just get in the door.”

 

She doesn’t move. “Thank you again for the ride,” she says, a little awkwardly.

 

“Sure,” he says, and then takes a deliberate step back. “’Night.”

 

With one last smile, she slots her key into the lock and slips into the apartment.

 

 

 

“You’re later than usual,” Richie remarks when he walks through the door. “Trouble at the gym?”

 

He shakes his head, dumping his keys onto the kitchen counter as he passes. “Nope.”

 

“Trouble with the car?” Richie calls after him.

 

“No.”

 

“Trouble with—”

 

“No trouble at all, Richard!” he yells, right before closing his bedroom door.

 

 

* * *

 

 

When Seth tells Richard he’s swapping their Thursday and Friday night shifts around, he expects some sort of narrowed stare or cryptic comment. To his surprise, his brother merely crunches his cereal and shrugs, barely even taking his eyes off the TV.

 

Friday rolls around, and come six P.M., Richie packs up and heads out the door. Next door at the smoothie shop, Kate’s frowning gaze follows him as he goes, her eyes swivelling back to find Seth through the glass windows as if asking a silent question.

 

He pretends to be too busy with a customer to notice.

 

“I thought Richie usually covers Friday nights,” she says later as they’re in the alley, tossing giant bags of trash into the Dumpster.

 

“We’re trying something out,” he says, avoiding eye contact in favour of feigning a look at his phone. Tucking the device away, he looks at her. “Want a ride?”

 

 

 

The ride to Kate’s apartment is… weirdly polite.

 

It’s only been a couple of months, but he’s already gotten used to sharing a certain— well— _dynamic_ with Kate Fuller. They’ve always been a little sharp with each other, but never in a _bad_ way. He’d always thought they kind of had a Katharine Hepburn/Spencer Tracy thing going on. Conversationally speaking, of course. Not the whole… secret love affair thing. (Ugh… never mind.)

 

In fact, she might just be his favourite person to talk to on the entire planet.

 

So suffice it to say that the whole quiet, reserved act she’s been putting on the whole night is really unsettling him.

 

A spark of her old self returns when he puts the car into park and moves to undo his seatbelt.

 

“I _can_ get myself to my own door, you know,” she says as he comes around the car to meet her on the sidewalk. “I’m pretty good at it, actually. Been doing it every day for over ten years now.”

 

“I don’t doubt it,” he says, letting her lead the way into the building. It’s mostly so she won’t see the smile spreading across his face at the familiar note of bemused exasperation returning to her tone. “But I forgot to cool down after my workout tonight, so you’re really doing me the favour here.”

 

She rolls her eyes, and starts up the stairs. “Yeah, I’m sure you’d suffer without the extra eight flights to _really_ tone up that butt.” Her shoulders tense up, her stride faltering. “I mean—”

 

He cocks his head. “You been lookin’ at my ass, princess?”

 

She glances back at him and then forward again quick as lightning, so all he catches is the barest glimpse of pink cheeks. “No, I don’t— what? No. _No.”_

 

“One ‘no’ is enough,” he tells her, grinning outright. “And, hey, look away. I don’t mind.” He pauses meaningfully. “As long as I can return the favour.”

 

She whirls around before he can even blink, darting down the two or three steps separating them to squeeze in between him and the banister.

 

“What are you _doing?”_ he says bemusedly, watching as she turns back around to face their original upward direction.

 

“Now no one’s looking at anyone’s ass,” she announces, tugging at his elbow to get him moving again so that they’re side by side now instead of single file. “And no one’s thinking about anyone’s ass, so, there.”

 

“Say ‘ass’ again,” he prompts, earning himself a smack on the arm and an unexpected giggle.

 

“Shut up,” she says, smiling despite herself.

 

They continue their ascent up the stairs, trading companionable barbs back and forth as they go. He knows she only hung back to walk alongside him because she was feeling self-conscious about practically flaunting her ass in his face — an inevitable side effect of walking above anyone on any set of stairs, one that he would be lying if he said he hadn’t been enjoying — but all the same, he thinks he just might like this even more. The stairs aren’t that wide to begin with, so they end up having to walk _really_ close to each other, her bare arm brushing against his sweatshirt-covered one with every move she makes.

 

They’re laughing by the time they reach her door, and he can’t remember the last time he’s had this much fun just _talking_ with anyone, Richie included. He doesn’t know if it’s something to feel happy or sad about.

 

Her laughter trails off once her keys are in her hand, and she turns to face him, expression pensive. “Hey,” she starts slowly, gaze finding his, “I’m sorry about the other night. When I said—” Breaking off, she shakes her head. “That is, I’m not trying to _hide_ anything from Scott. Or anyone else, for that matter. I just… don’t want to confuse him, you know?”

 

He nods, keeping his face neutral even as his mind races, turning over each and every word that spills from her lips. “Yeah,” he says. “You don’t gotta apologise for anything, Kate. Like I said — I get it.”

 

She doesn’t seem entirely reassured, looking up at him and then away again like she’s trying to talk herself into saying something. Or talk herself _out_ of it.

 

“Thank you,” she says at last, looking up at him again in that way that always makes him feel like ripping his jacket off to lay it over a puddle for her to walk on, or whatever. “I really—”

 

“Appreciate it, I know,” he says, with a soft smirk. He gestures towards her locked door, and steps back. “Go on in.”

 

She slides the key into the lock and pauses, looking over her shoulder at him. “Goodnight, Seth.”

 

He nods. “’Night, Kate.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

When Kate doesn’t show up in the smoothie shop on Monday morning, it’s hard for Seth to keep from worrying. She _always_ shows up for work, and she’s _never_ late.

 

It’s well over an hour into the start of her shift when he snaps a little. Deciding he can’t wait till two-thirty for Scott to show up so he can subtly interrogate the kid, Seth throws a sweatshirt on over his dri-fit tank, makes sure Richie’s busy with a client, and hurries next door as stealthily as he can.

 

The girl who’s on shift with Kate most of the time looks up when he enters, clearly a little surprised to see a customer turn up before the lunch hour hits.

 

“Welcome to Smoothie Heaven,” she says, tucking her phone into the back pocket of her shorts. “What can I get you?”

 

“Hi, uh, yeah,” he says, blinking at the menu. Jesus, this place is _bright._ “Can I get a— a Very Berry, please.”

 

“One Very Berry,” the girl echoes, punching a few buttons on the register. She looks up. “Is that all?”

 

“I— yeah,” he says, fumbling for the five dollar bill he’d stashed in his gym shorts before coming over. Sliding it across the counter, he glances at the girl’s name tag as she counts out his change. _Paloma._

 

He clears his throat as she starts to bustle about, preparing his order. “So you’re, uh, flying solo today, huh? Isn’t there usually two of you?”

 

Paloma clicks her tongue as she scoops ingredients into a blender jug. “Yeah, Kate’s not coming today. She called in sick a couple hours ago.”

 

He starts forward at that, the toe of his sneakers hitting the counter. “She did?”

 

“Yeah, it’s gotta be pretty bad, too,” she says, dumping ice into the jug. “Kate, like, _never_ calls in sick. Girl’s like some kinda Superwoman.” She fixes the jug onto the blender base, and flicks the switch to turn it on, effectively cutting off the conversation.

 

Making a split second decision, Seth scrounges around in his shorts pockets for the other five dollar bill he’s pretty sure is lying around somewhere.

 

When Paloma returns to the counter with his drink, he slides another bill towards her, this one severely crumpled.

 

“Actually,” he says, “can I get a Mango Tango with that? Thanks.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

A half hour and a quick trip back home later, he’s pulling up in front of Kate’s apartment building. He takes a few moments to unload a couple of paper bags from the passenger seat before locking the car and striding up to the building, internally shaking his head yet again about the lack of security that allows him to just walk right through the front door.

 

Before ducking out of the gym, he’d made some sort of excuse about needing to go scope out new lat machines to his brother. He knows full well that the excuse was weak as fuck, but he honestly couldn’t be bothered trying to come up with an explanation that was Richie-proof.

 

“I’m doubling my bonus,” Richie had merely said when Seth asked him to cover his clients for the next few hours. “And you’re telling me what this is _actually_ about when you get back.”

 

The four-storey climb takes him slightly longer than usual, seeing as he’s weighed down with the bags, but he’s at Kate’s apartment in less than three minutes, setting down one bag to rap lightly on the door.

 

There’s a loud sneeze and sniffle on the other side of the door. “One second!” she yells in a muffled voice.

 

Another roaring sneeze and a muted shuffle of feet later, a shadow passes over the peephole. Arching a brow, Seth lifts his free hand and waggles his fingers in a small wave.

 

There’s a sound like a strangled yelp on the other side of the door, and then hasty rustling accompanied by more sniffling. It takes another few seconds and the sound of a latch scraping, and then the door inches open.

 

“Seth?” Her face is flushed, the skin on and around her nose red as a tomato. “What are you doing here?”

 

He lifts the bag in his arms. “I brought soup.”

 

She blinks at the bag, and then at him. “I— you—”

 

“It tastes better sitting down instead of standing in a doorway,” he says dryly.

 

Pink washes over her red-flushed skin, and she steps back, pulling the door wide open. “Come on in. At your own risk,” she adds as he picks up the second bag sitting at his feet. “I can’t guarantee I won’t get you sick.”

 

“I’ll take my chances,” he says, letting his gaze rake over her in a quick appraisal as he crosses the threshold. She’s dressed in a cotton tank and soft shorts, with some sort of peachy-beige coloured cardigan thrown on over top. Her hair's piled on top of her head in that messy bun thing girls seem to love, with bits and pieces falling out around her face. “You all right, princess?”

 

“I’ve been better,” she confesses, closing and latching the door behind him. _Good girl,_ he thinks. She turns around. “Did you say you brought—”

 

He holds up the bag again. “Chicken noodle and minestrone. Wasn’t sure what you liked.” He pulls a separate, smaller plastic carrier out of the bag, the bright yellow-orange smoothie dangling from his fingertips. "And an extra side of your acid slush. But you should probably avoid icy shit for now, so, I don't know. Maybe you could put it in the fridge or something, for later."

 

She looks at him, mouth opening like she’s about to say something — and then she sneezes.

 

“God, I’m sorry,” she says, running the tissue that had (thankfully) been in her hand over her nose.

 

“Don’t worry about it,” he says, resisting the urge to drop everything and go to her to rub her shoulders or her back or whatever the fuck it is that makes sick people feel better. “You should eat the soup. Got a spoon or something?”

 

She leads the way over to the tiny kitchen, still blowing her nose into the tissue as she stores her smoothie in the fridge accordingly.

 

"I didn't even think about getting soup," she says, tossing the used tissue into a trash bin and washing her hands. "It's been so long since I've let myself get sick."

 

" _Let_ yourself?" Seth says, opening the drawer she points to and grabbing a spoon. "Are you seriously blaming yourself for being human?"

 

She throws her hands up in a half-hearted gesture of exasperation. "It started raining while I was at the grocery store yesterday, and I should have just waited it out, but I was _so_ tired and all I wanted to do was get home and watch TV. I thought a little water wouldn't hurt." She grabs another tissue and walks over to the small kitchen table to watch him unload the soup containers from the bag. "It was stupid."

 

He gives her a look. "Next time you're stuck somewhere, you call me. I'll come get you."

 

For a few moments, she's visibly stunned by that. She stares at him, and then starts shaking her head.

 

"No, that's crazy," she says, tugging at a lock of hair that's come loose from her bun. "I can't just impose on you like—"

 

He grunts dismissively. "If I didn't wanna do it, I wouldn't have offered. Call me next time you need something." He doesn't give her time to respond, popping open both containers and looking at her expectantly. "Ready to eat?"

 

She hesitates, glancing at the giant soup containers and then at him. "I can't finish them both."

 

"So save the other one for later," he says easily.

 

She bites on her lower lip, and then looks at him, extending the spoon to him. "Share with me?" She falters at the long look he gives her. "I mean, you don't _have_ to stay or anything. I'm probably gonna be lousy company, and I can't promise I won't accidentally sneeze in your food or anything, but—"

 

"Relax, sweetheart," he says, with small smirk. Stepping back over to the drawers, he pulls the top one out and extracts another spoon before waving it at her. "I'm pretty open to whatever, but I happen to draw the line at sharing utensils with an invalid."

 

She rolls her eyes and sticks her tongue out at him, and he feels a glow of pride at being able to coax some small display of energy from her.

 

There's only one rickety chair at the kitchen table, so they carry their soups over to the worn old couch in the adjacent living room, Kate looking around for the TV remote as Seth pops back to the kitchen to retrieve the second paper bag.

 

"We don't get many channels," she says apologetically as she turns the television on. "I would put on some Netflix, but we've only got it on the laptop, and Scott took that to school with him today."

 

"No problem," Seth says, setting the second paper bag down on the coffee table. "I came prepared." He pulls out a small stack of DVDs — a couple classics and a few more of his all-time favourites, hastily compiled and retrieved from his own apartment before coming over.

 

"Oh my God," she says, half in amusement and half in amazement. "You're a _film nerd."_

 

He bristles self-consciously. "What? No. I just like _good movies._ Everybody does." He scowls at her wide grin. "I'm not a _nerd."_

 

She nods patronisingly, still grinning away. "Show me your stash, nerd."

 

After a short debate — during which she sneezes another four times — they settle on _Desperado,_ and Seth gets up to slide it into the boxy old DVD player sitting under the TV. It's clunky and about ten years out of date, but it works just fine, even if it is a bit slow to load the menu.

 

"I can't believe you've never seen _Desperado,"_ he says as he settles into the couch with his container of minestrone soup.

 

"I can't believe you're a _film nerd,"_ she volleys back, blowing daintily on a spoonful of chicken broth.

 

"I'm not a _nerd!"_

 

 

 

By the time the end credits start rolling, Kate's near horizontal on the couch, curled up and looking all warm and contented as she snuggles into the lone cushion on the couch.

 

"Good, huh?" Seth says, cocking a brow at her. He'd gotten a little more comfortable throughout the movie, unzipping his hoodie and letting his arm stretch out over the back of the couch. The thing is so small that Kate's little socked feet are pressed up against his thigh, but she looks too exhausted to care, and, hell, he's not about to say anything about it.

 

"Great," she agrees, grinning at him in this extra _soft_ way, all happy and tired at the same time. Fuck if it doesn't make his heart clench in his fucking chest. (All of a sudden, he feels a lot more sympathetic towards Scott about the kid's crush on that Jessica girl.)

 

Clearing his throat, he shifts forward and looks through the small stack of movies on the coffee table. "One more?" he asks, holding up _The Dirty Dozen._

 

She pushes up on one elbow, rubbing at her eyes before blinking hazily at the DVD case. "Are you sure? Don't you have to be back at the gym?"

 

"Richie can handle things for a bit," he says with a gruff wave. "You need anything else? I can run out and get more soup."

 

She shakes her head, one hand grazing over her belly. "I'm all souped up. Chicken essence runs through my veins."

 

He just barely resists the urge to grin. Shit's fucking cute as fuck.

 

"One more sounds good," she says, oblivious of his internal struggle. "Although, please don't hate me if I pass out halfway through."

 

He glances at her alertly. "Are you tired? Do you wanna just go to bed?"

 

A deep yawn overtakes her then, but she shakes her head at him, one hand over her mouth. "I can do another. Come on, nerd. Show me what you got."

 

He fakes a disgruntled growl just to hear her chuckle in response, and goes to put the movie in. When he returns to the couch, she's curled up on her side, yawning into her palm again.

 

"Hey, if I really do fall asleep, wake me up, all right?"

 

Settling back into the couch, he presses play. "Sure," he says lightly, fully aware of the way her socked feet burrow into the side of his leg, tucking themselves between him and the couch.

 

She lasts barely fifteen minutes.

 

He hits pause once she starts snoring lightly — if that's what he can call it. (Compared to Richie's roaring train snores, these are practically kitten purrs.) Gingerly lifting himself off the couch so as not to jostle her, he gathers up the empty soup containers and carries them to the kitchen, tossing them in the bin she'd used for her tissues before washing his hands.

 

Once his hands are clean, he heads back to the living room, letting himself pause and just take her in.

 

She's so… _tiny._ It was especially easy to forget how physically small or young she is at the beginning, when she spent a good seventy or eighty percent of the time just yelling at him, but it hits him like a bus now, making something hot and cold curl and coil in his gut.

 

Running his gaze over her thin cardigan, he frowns. The weather's getting a lot warmer, but just that thin layer of cotton can't be too good for her cold. He looks around the small, cluttered living room for a blanket or a throw, but comes up empty. Nothing — not even a spare clean towel. He briefly considers venturing further into the apartment to look in one of the bedrooms, but he feels odd about looking around without an invitation from her or Scott. He's not sure she'd be too happy about him seeing her _bedroom_ without her knowledge.

 

Giving up on the search, he shrugs his hoodie off and lays it over her petite frame, gently tucking the hood over her shoulder and up to her neck.

 

She barely stirs, but he could swear he hears a small sound pass from her lips. Something like _"thanks."_ Or maybe _"Seth."_

 

He lets his hand graze over her face, pushing a stray wisp of dark hair back from her cheek. "Sleep tight, Kate."

 

 

 

“Where’ve you been?” Scott asks when he walks back into the gym.

 

Seth winces at Scott’s wide-eyed expression, both surprised and curious, and for good reason. He’s pretty much _always_ around whenever the kid gets in from school. In fact, this has gotta be the first time since Scott started working here that he _wasn’t._

 

“Visiting his secret mistress,” Richie remarks placidly, earning a hard punch in the shoulder from Seth.

 

“Just… taking care of some things,” Seth hedges. “Hey, kid — get the mats and kettlebells set up for my three o’clock, will ya?”

 

Scott brightens up, all traces of confusion dissipating in a split second. “On it!”

 

Richie follows him to the water dispenser, crossing his arms and leaning his shoulder against the wall to watch him unnervingly closely.

 

“I was kidding about that mistress comment, you know,” his brother says. “But if you’re gonna react like—”

 

“Shut up, Richard,” Seth says smoothly, sticking his water bottle underneath the cold tap.

 

“Like that,” finishes Richie, eyes narrowing. “Where you been, brother?”

 

Seth heaves a sigh, hoping it comes off more exasperated than nervous. “I told you. I was out taking care of… stuff.”

 

Richie stares at him. “Like the new lat machines.”

 

Seth flicks the water off, but it’s half a beat late so fat droplets slosh over the rim. “Yeah,” he says. “The new lat machines.”

 

Richie studies him for another long beat, and then shrugs, pushing off the wall like he’s about to walk away. “Sure.” He pauses, turning back with deliberate casualness. “Oh, by the way. According to Scott, Kate’s home sick today.”

 

Seth quickly arranges his features into something that he desperately prays looks like the vaguest, blandest form of polite interest. “Oh, yeah? That’s too bad.”

 

An awkward silence falls between the brothers — at least, one that Seth hopes only _feels_ awkward to him.

 

“Yeah,” Richie says, turning away again. “Too bad.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Over the last few months, Seth’s gotten irrevocably used to watching Kate walk past the gym every morning on her way to the smoothie shop. She always arrives a neat two or three minutes before her shift is scheduled to start; earlier if she’s opening alone without Paloma or some other girl there to help.

 

He always makes sure he’s in the reception area in the mornings to catch her. There’s something almost therapeutic about her constantness, about knowing he can count on her appearing every single morning to shoot him a small nod or a little wave through the glass doors, large eyes sometimes hidden behind her sunglasses but smile clearly visible under them.

 

So on Tuesday, when she stops at the gym and pushes through the glass doors instead of walking right past them, his heart just about stutters, floundering about in his ribcage in search of an emotion to feel.

 

“Hi,” she says, glancing around the empty reception area with a large paper bag in her hands. She starts to say something else, and then stops, chewing on her lower lip. “Where’s Richie?”

 

“Out back,” he manages in what seems to be a fairly normal voice. Taking a second to gather his wits, he lets his gaze rove over her. “You feeling better?”

 

The cautious expression on her face relaxes into a small smile, and she steps closer to the front desk. “A lot better. All thanks to the healing power of chicken noodle soup.”

 

He snorts. “Or quality cinema. You watch any more of my stuff?”

 

“I did,” she says, grinning. “You’re right. I _have_ been missing out on some pretty awesome films.” She shrugs, rolling her eyes playfully. “Shame on me for only watching movies made _after_ I was born.”

 

“Can’t beat a good classic,” he says proudly.

 

“Spoken like a true nerd.”

 

_“Hey.”_

 

She snickers, sunny and bright and fuck but the sight makes his breath fucking catch in his throat. Jesus, he really _is_ a teenager around this girl.

 

“Anyway,” she says, setting the paper bag on the desk in front of him. “I just thought I’d return your things. Don’t worry,” she adds as he starts to peer into the bag. “I washed your jacket. It should be relatively germ- and virus-free.”

 

“What a relief,” he quips, ducking his head to rifle through the bag so the slight quell of disappointment doesn’t leak through on his face. He’d been kind of hoping his sweatshirt would come back to him with that vanilla scent clinging to it, the one her hair kind of always smells like.

 

( _Christ._ The fuck is _happening_ to him?!)

 

“I’m sorry for falling asleep like that,” she says, and then frowns. “You should have woken me up.”

 

“It’s fine. You needed to sleep, and I know where the door is.”

 

“Oh. Okay.”  She pauses, and then laces her fingers together in front of her like she’s trying to crack her knuckles, only the angle is off so it just kind of looks like she’s trying to twist them off. “I didn’t really get a chance to say this yesterday,” she says, her tone careful. “So I just wanted to say thank you. For… for being there. I— I’ve never been very good at asking for help, but you…” She trails off, looking at him with a conflicted sort of frown.

 

“You don’t need it,” he tells her readily. “You’ve been doing fine on your own all this time.”

 

She laughs, but it’s watery. “Yeah, it definitely hasn’t always felt that way. But thanks. It—it means a lot.”

 

His jaw clenches. “Kate, it's nothing. Seriously. You don’t have to thank me for every little thing.”

 

Her eyes lift to meet his. “I don’t?”

 

“No,” he says, leaning towards her. “I don’t do this shit for the gratitude. I do it because—”

 

He breaks off, realising that he has no end to that sentence.

 

A crease appears in Kate’s brow, and she leans forward too, her mouth opening — but she’s cut off by a loud clunking sound from the back, followed by a muffled shout of _“FUCK me!”_ from Richie.

 

They both jump backwards, even though there’s nothing inappropriate or illicit about the way they’d been standing. Shit, there’s been a whole desk in between them the entire time.

 

(So why does he feel so… _caught?)_

 

“I should go,” Kate says, stepping back with an awkward laugh. “Long day today.” Tuesdays mean night shifts for her. He hasn’t forgotten. (Hell, as long as it’s anything remotely to do with Kate, he doesn’t think he’s even _capable_ of forgetting.)

 

He nods, and quirks his mouth in a small smile. “Yeah. I’ll see you.”

 

She pauses mid-retreat towards the door, as if catching on to the implications of his farewell. For a second, he thinks she might try that whole _'I can get myself home'_ spiel again, but then her mouth curves in a smile.

 

“Right,” she says. “See you.”

 

Once he’s stowed the paper bag of his things safely under the desk, he sighs, and turns to head into the back. “You alive back there, Richard?”

 

 

 

As much as Seth will refuse to admit it to anyone with working ears, Scott _is_ kind of a little ray of sunshine in the gym. Granted, he’s a little shit more often than not, but it’s shit of the sunshine variety.

 

The kid just brightens up the place with his energy and earnestness, and Seth’s started taking advantage of slow afternoons to teach him some basics with weight training and nutrition and even self-defense. (According to Scott, he's been in martial arts classes since he was six and it definitely doesn’t hurt, making him a lot quicker to grasp basic fundamentals even if he’s still not above showing off every now and then.)

 

Regardless, Scott always brims over with this vibrant, can-do sort of vigour, and like with watching Kate pass by every morning, Seth’s grown irreversibly used to that, too.

 

Which is why it’s a huge throw-off when Scott storms into the gym later that afternoon with a n expression like a thundercloud, not making eye contact with anybody. He and Richie watch bemusedly as Scott practically stomps around, taking on his usual duties with about three times the force that’s actually necessary.

 

About an hour and a half into this performance, Seth decides enough is enough. He walks up to Scott as he’s seemingly trying to wear the punching bag down to the core armed with nothing but the power of a rag and disinfectant.

 

“Jesus, kid,” he comments, one brow raised. “If it’s a fight you’re picking, I think the bag’s lost.”

 

“Shut up,” Scott snaps, still scrubbing away at the bag.

 

Seth blinks, almost reeling in surprise. Scott’s always a little hot-headed and quick to react (for better or worse), but he’s never been _vicious_ before.

 

“Whoa,” he says, frowning. “Settle down, kid.”

 

Scott growls, flinging the rag over his shoulder as he rounds on Seth, eyes flashing. “Don’t fucking _call_ me that!”

 

“Watch your mouth,” Seth barks, planting his hands on his hips as he fixes Scott with a hard look. “All right, that’s it. You wanna tell me what the fuck is up with you?”

 

“The fuck is up with _me?!”_ Scott takes a heated step towards Seth. “The fuck’s up with _you,_ Seth? I mean, _really?_ My _sister?!”_

 

There have only been three occasions in Seth’s life where he’s actively _felt_ the blood draining from his face. The first was the very first time he saw his father raise a hand to Richie. He dove in between them before any damage was done, and continued to bear the brunt of their father’s rage for the next six years. The second was the time Richie, fifteen years old, stole a car and crashed it. He’d called Seth in shame to ask what to do about the wrecked car, but Seth had barely been able to think beyond imagining all the horrid possibilities that could have come true. Thankfully, Richie had escaped unscathed — until Seth got his hands on him, that is.

 

The third… is now.

 

Seth raises a hand, pointing to the doorway that leads to the back rooms.

 

“Office,” he says, his voice tight. “Now.”

 

Scott glares at him with all of the tempestuous rage only a teenager can summon, and for a brief moment, Seth thinks the kid's actually going to defy him — but then Scott throws the rag onto the ground, and stomps towards the back. Ignoring the scattered looks from confused patrons and the frown from Richie, Seth follows after him.

 

Once they’re in the small room they use as both office and storage purposes with the door closed, Seth sighs, and turns to face Scott, crossing his arms over his chest. “Okay. What exactly is this about?”

 

Scott scowls. “I saw your jacket, Seth. The dark grey Under Armour one with the hood? It was hanging up to dry when I got home yesterday. I saw the containers in the trash, from that diner you always get soup from whenever Richie’s sick. Yeah," he says forcefully when Seth frowns. "He told me about that once. I thought it was real cute, too, until I saw the container in _my own kitchen!"_

 

Slowly, Seth uncrosses his arms. "This is… a hell of a reaction to some soup."

 

"Really?" Scott bites out. "You're gonna make _jokes_ now?"

 

Seth draws a sharp breath, letting it loose nice and slow. Clearly, Richie’s ‘mistress’ comment wasn’t nearly as helpful as he thought.

 

"Okay,” he mutters. “All right." He meets Scott's gaze squarely and juts his chin towards the lone chair and desk behind them, making sure to soften his tone. "Why don't you take a seat, huh? Let's talk."

 

"I don't wanna _talk,"_ Scott says sullenly.

 

"Well then you can just listen," Seth says, injecting a firm edge to his voice. He gestures to the chair again, one hand on his hip for emphasis.

 

Rolling his eyes with the flair of a practiced high schooler, Scott turns and drops into the chair, slumping back and folding his arms over his middle in the picture of moody insolence. Seth just manages to suppress another long-suffering sigh at the sense of déjà vu prickling at him. Apparently, he's been doomed by some deity or other to explain his intentions towards one Fuller to another for the rest of his life.

 

Shoving the thought aside, he moves to perch his ass on the edge of the desk and braces himself with another deep breath, all the while keeping a careful eye on Scott's hunched-up frame.

 

"I heard your sister was sick yesterday," he begins in a measured tone. "Your uncle's not around, and you were busy all day with school and then work, so yeah, I did go over to your place — _only_ to bring her some soup. She fell asleep on the couch, I couldn't find a blanket to put over her, so I used my jacket." He pauses, making sure Scott's listening. "Nothing else happened."

 

Scott glances up at him, brow still creased in a frown. "How'd you even know where we live? I've never told you."

 

Seth debates it for a second, but decides fuck it, he's already come this far. "I gave her a ride home once or twice after she was done with her night shift." At Scott's surprised look, he shrugs. "What, you thought I was gonna let her walk home by herself? This isn't exactly the Upper East Side."

 

Scott's silent, his jaw grinding. After a few tense beats, he looks up again. "Nothing happened?"

 

 _“Nothing,”_ Seth confirms emphatically. “Okay?”

 

Scott’s shoulders drop slightly, and the deep crease disappears from his brow, but the line of his jaw is still tense. His chest rises and falls in a breath, and his sharp gaze flicks to Seth.

 

“Why are you so nice to Kate?” he says, eyes narrowing. This time it appears to be pure curiosity instead of hardened suspicion, which Seth’s going to take as a good sign. “You’re not nice to anybody.”

 

Seth makes a _‘pfft’_ sound, crossing his arms over his chest. “Gave you a job when you asked, didn’t I?”

 

For a split second, it looks like Scott might laugh — but he quickly suppresses the smile before it can take proper shape on his face, his frown deepening. “You know what I mean. You don’t go out of your way for just anybody. Why Kate?”

 

Seth takes a beat to really think it through. He doesn’t want to overstate anything, but playing it down just to relax Scott feels too akin to lying, too. (Goddammit. The kid really has gotten under his skin.)

 

“Your sister is a hell of a badass,” he says evenly. “I don’t know if you know just how much. It’s hard as fuck tryin' to make it out there on your own, and that’s _before_ you get saddled with a kid brother.” Seeing the pinched look that appears on Scott’s face, he immediately regrets his choice of word. “Don’t get me wrong, kid. She loves you like crazy. If she ever got to go back and do it all over again, she’d choose you, every single time.”

 

Scott stays quiet, watching and waiting for Seth’s next words.

 

Exhaling, Seth uncrosses his arms, bracing his palms against the edge of the desk. “Your sister’s a goddamn superhero, that’s for sure. But she’s still just one person, and even superheroes need some help every now and then.”  

 

Scott seems to consider this for a long moment, and then he peers up at Seth. “So that’s it? You just wanna... _help_ Kate?” The face he pulls on the word ‘help’ makes his meaning more than clear enough.

 

“I just want her to know she doesn’t have to do everything alone,” Seth says carefully. At Scott’s dubious look, he sighs and shakes his head. “Look, the stuff I did for Kate was just to _do_ stuff for her. Believe it or not, I don’t just wanna fuck your sister, okay?”

 

Scott’s brows shoot up in triumph. “But you _do_ want to—”

 

“Jesus,” Seth cuts in hastily, scrubbing his palm over his face. “All right, I’m not talking about this with you. This conversation’s weird enough as it is.”

 

To his relief, Scott seems to let it go. He shifts in the chair, elbows braced on the armrests as he thinks it over.

 

Finally, the kid sighs and looks up. “Look, whatever’s going on with you and Kate — I’m not _against_ it, you know,” he says seriously. “I’m really not. I just… don’t like it when people hide things from me.”

 

It sounds exactly like something Richie would say. That’s _gotta_ be a younger brother thing, Seth thinks wryly to himself.

 

Seth claps a hand to Scott’s shoulder, making sure to look the boy in the eye. “Listen, kid. I promise that if there’s ever something to tell, you’ll hear it from me. All right?”

 

“Okay,” Scott says as he rises from the chair, clearly in a much better mood than before. He even throws Seth a small smile as he starts past him, heading for the door.

 

All of a sudden, he stops and pivots back around, brows furrowed. “Although, some advice? You should probably just man up and ask her out on a real date already.”

 

Seth brings his foot up to kick lightly at Scott’s butt. “Get the fuck outta here, kid,” he orders, standing quickly to distract from the warm flush rising on his cheeks.

 

Scott scurries out the door, flashing Seth a cheeky grin over his shoulder as he goes.

 

 

 

Seth half worries that Scott is going to say something to Kate, but his usual mid-afternoon smoothie run appears to go as uneventfully as ever, judging from the Fullers’ casual facial expressions and body language through the glass windows of the gym and the smoothie shop.

 

“And one Very Berry,” Scott announces as he unloads their drinks, handing the cup to Seth with a outrageously suggestive waggle of his brows.

 

“Go replace the water bottles on the dispensers,” he commands smoothly, and turns away before Richie can catch his eye. Jesus. Two hours ago, the kid was all ready to rip his head off his neck for bringing some fucking soup to his sister and now, he’s practically shoving them into bed together. _Teenagers._

 

“Something is going on,” Richie says with narrowed eyes, one elbow propped on the reception desk as he sips at his smoothie. “Either you’re going to tell me, or I’m going to find out.”

 

“Your four-thirty’s arriving any minute now, Richard,” Seth says snippily, pretending to focus on typing in a new member’s information.

 

Richie backs away from the counter. “I’ll find out, then,” he says, still squinting sanctimoniously at Seth. “I always do.”

 

Seth just barely refrains from throwing his stapler at his brother’s head.

 

 

* * *

 

 

It’s another slow night, made even slower by Seth’s rising nerves. Half an hour to closing, he gives up and starts winding everything down, taking his time to flip switches off and put equipment back in its proper place.

 

He makes sure to carefully pack the paper bag of his jacket and DVDs into his gym bag before walking out the door, locking and double-bolting the door before drawing the shutter down.

 

Kate looks up when he walks into the smoothie shop, face lighting up even as her brow furrows with a questioning expression. “Hey. Closed already?”

 

“Called it a little early,” he says, trying not to think about the little leap his heart does at the sight of her smile, right there in front of him without any panes of glass between them. “What about you?”

 

She glances at the clock on the wall and sets aside the blender she’d been drying with a dishcloth. “I’m almost done, too. Flip the sign for me while I put this stuff away?”

 

He turns the ‘open’ sign over so it reads ‘closed’ in that same cursive, neon pink font, and then sets his bag down on the counter and starts turning chairs over and resting them on top of tables the way he sees her do at closing. They work in companionable silence for a few minutes — she only has a few more ingredients to store in the fridge and he only has three tables and eight or nine chairs to work with — and then they each grab a trash bag, and head out back to the alley, Kate telling him some story about an annoying customer as they go. She scrunches up her face animatedly and even does funny voices, clearly and completely at ease in his presence.

 

Every time he thinks he's fully realised how fucking good it feels to be with her like this, it happens again, and it dawns on him all over again that he'll probably never get enough.

 

“Hey,” he says once the bags are at the bottom of the Dumpster, and she turns to look at him. “So, uh. Something happened today with Scott.”

 

Her brows snap together quick as lightning, her shoulders tensing in alert concern. “What’s wrong? Is he okay?”

 

He shakes his head. “No, yeah. Everything’s fine, Scott’s fine. We just had to have a little—uh— _conversation_ today about some things.”

 

She tilts her head and wrinkles her nose. “What _things?”_

 

No easy way to say it. “He knows I was at your place yesterday.”

 

Her eyes widen. “He _what?!_ How—”

 

“He saw my jacket there, caught me coming back to the gym and put two and two together,” Seth explains steadily, silently willing himself not to get sheepish now. They haven’t done anything inappropriate, after all. They have nothing to be embarrassed about.

 

“He saw—” Kate opens and closes her mouth. Abruptly, she shakes her head. “I have to go talk to him.”

 

Seth throws his arm out as she turns towards the door of the smoothie shop, less of an attempt to block her way and more to draw her attention towards him. “Actually, we already talked about it. I just thought you’d want to know.”

 

She steps back, frowning at him. “What did you say?”

 

He slips his hands into his pockets, finding it harder and harder to suppress the odd sensation of bashfulness creeping up on him. Fuck you, bashfulness. He’s Seth fucking Gecko.

 

“I told him the truth,” he says simply. “He wanted to know if there was anything going on with us." He pauses at her arrested expression. "I told him no.”

 

"Oh." Her tone's gone all guarded. He can't quite tell if that undercurrent he's hearing in her voice is relief or disappointment. "And he… he bought that?"

 

Seth considers where his conversation with Scott had gone next, and fervently hopes it's dark enough in the alley that Kate can't see his cheeks heating. "He, uh, had a couple other more pressing concerns."

 

She tilts her head, the questioning frown returning. "What concerns?"

 

He rubs a hand over the back of his neck. "Concerns surrounding my… intentions towards you, I guess."

 

A rosy blush blooms on her cheeks, the contrast visible against her fair skin even in the dimly lit alley. "Your intentions," she repeats carefully.

 

He flexes his fingers awkwardly. "Shit, is that weird? I don't know what the fuck the right words are here, I've never— Jesus. I'm not trying to come off like a creep or anything, I just—" He groans, pressing the heel of his hand into the space between his brows, and then dragging it away.

 

To his surprise, she's smiling.

 

"You look uncomfortable," she offers, hands loosely clasped in front of her.

 

A bark of laughter escapes him, heat prickling behind his ears. "Yeah, no shit."

 

She presses her lips together, looking away as if considering something, and then back at him. "Would it help if I expressed something about… _my_ intentions towards you?"

 

His mouth falls open. "Your—" He breaks off when she takes a single, deliberate step towards him, bringing her body within a mere foot of his. "Holy shit," he mutters when she takes another smaller step, her chest practically brushing against his, her head craned all the way back so her gaze remains locked with his.

 

"Holy shit," he wants to say again — only he doesn't get to, because her lips are on his, two small sets of fingers curving around his jaw and sliding into his hair to hold them both steady as she pushes up on the tips of her toes to meet him.

 

It's the first time he's ever not minded getting cut off mid-cuss.

 

He's not conscious of the movement itself, but his arms are wrapped around her before his brain can catch up, pulling her frame tight against his so it elicits a small hum of surprise from the back of her throat that makes every cell in his body sit up and pay full attention. He thinks it might be him that opens his mouth to hers first — or perhaps it was hers to his — but it's the light trace of her tongue against his bottom lip that damn near undoes him, his knees far closer to buckling than he feels comfortable with admitting. Planting his feet a little firmer, he widens his stance and pulls her closer still, dragging her body higher up so her mouth slants over his, her toes barely grazing the ground.

 

It's sweet and strong and soft and sexy all at the same time, just like her, and he can't help thinking _he fucking knew it,_ from the very first second he ever laid eyes on her, he just fucking _knew_ that this is what kissing her would be like. What _being_ with her would be like.

 

 

 

It takes Kate a whole ten minutes just to lock up the smoothie shop in between all the stolen kisses and looks and touches and _wow,_ now that he's started touching her, he _really_ can't stop touching her. His hand lingers on her waist while she locks the front door. His fingers brush against her back while they walk to the car. Once they're in it, he even reaches for her hand so he can hold it while he drives, which he's never done with _any_ of his previous girlfriends because it's sappy and ridiculous.

 

There's more kissing in the car once they pull up to Kate's building, his hand fisting in her hair to pull her closer over the gearstick as the radio plays softly in the background — Christ, he really _is_ a fucking teenager — and by the time they actually get into the building, Kate's lips are all puffy and her hair's all mussed up, but he can't quite find it in himself to care if it's beyond obvious that they've been all over each other anymore, not when she's looking at him like she's got fucking stars in her big doe eyes.

 

She turns to face him once they're outside her door, and for the first time since they'd first kissed, her smile fades just a little.

 

"So, uh," she says, her fingers flexing in his bigger grip, "is this—I mean, are we—"

 

If he were a bit stronger, he would stand back and let it draw out, just to watch her flounder a bit for a change. But he's already accepted that he's a weak fucking son of a gun for this girl and probably always will be, so he tightens his hand around hers and tugs her closer.

 

"We're together," he says, privately thankful that his voice doesn't crack with how fucking overwhelmed he feels. He pauses, peering at her carefully. "If that's what you—"

 

"It is," she says quickly, her smile returning in full force. The sight of it will never fail to make him want to kiss her. The only difference now is that he _can,_ so he does, letting his lips linger on hers for an extra beat before pulling back.

 

"What is it?" he asks when a slight frown crosses her face.

 

She glances at her apartment door, and then back at him. "I have to tell Scott."

 

He grimaces. "I have to tell Richie." His gaze flicks up to meet hers, one brow lifted. "Hey, I'll trade you."

 

"No, thanks," she laughs, touching her hand to his chest, the warmth of her palm somehow reaching all the way through to his fucking _heart._ "You already got us halfway in the door with Scott, so I think I'll stick with him."

 

"But Richie likes you better," he grumbles, his free hand reaching up to brush a stray lock of ebony hair out of her face.

 

She rolls her eyes. "When will you learn that _everyone_ does," she quips, catching his hand and pressing a quick kiss to his palm. "Nerd."

 

Yeah, his heart is pretty much a puddle of mush. One order of Very Berry, melted down into a useless pool of bright red on the bottom of his chest cavity.

 

 

* * *

 

 

To Seth's surprise, Richie barely reacts to the news.

 

"I mean," his brother says, shrugging cryptically, "it was only a matter of time."

 

He briefly thinks about asking for some kind of elaboration, but decides he's probably better off not knowing.

 

Scott confronts him the second he steps into the gym, eyes narrowed and shoulders tight.

 

"You realise I'm bound by honour to kick your ass if you ever break her heart, right," he says, fixing Seth with a firm stare. "Even if you're the one who signs my paychecks."

 

He surveys the kid's clenched jaw, and nods. "Kid, I'd be pissed if you didn't."

 

Just like that, Scott relaxes, snapping back into his usual energetic self within the blink of an eye. "Cool. I'll get to work now. Later, boss!"

 

 

 

Later on, Kate brings around their mid-afternoon smoothies herself instead of waiting for Scott to come over.

 

"I'm on an early break anyway," she says as she hands a cup to her brother. "So I thought I'd save you the trip."

 

Scott scoffs. "Yeah, right. More like you thought you'd sneak out of work to play tongue hockey with your boyfriend."

 

"Well her _boyfriend_ thinks she's got the right idea," Seth says, making her flush hot pink and shake her head.

 

"Sugar free," she says, handing him his drink.

 

He drops a kiss on her hair. "I got all the sugar I need right here."

 

Scott makes an obnoxiously loud gagging sound, and Seth shoots him a pointed look. "Don't you have a locker room to sweep?"

 

Scott snatches up his drink and scuttles off in a hurry, but not before sticking a defiant tongue out at them.

 

"Go easy on him," Kate says, her arms winding around his waist. "He just found out his boss is dating his sister."

 

"I fucking will not," he says, one hand cupping her jaw. "Now give me some of that sugar, sweetheart."

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> thoughts? feelings? slushie cravings?
> 
> i'm also [on tumblr](http://ticogirls.tumblr.com)!


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